


Galatea

by Mayblume



Series: Second Encounter [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Multi, Mystery, Romance, Violence, excessive allusions to greek mythology, lots of art talk, lots of metaphors, lots of self-deception, two distinguished gays meet a disaster bisexual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-01-16 04:31:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18513955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayblume/pseuds/Mayblume
Summary: Sasori and Kakuzu are about to get married when one morning, Sasori reencounters his muse. Suddenly, he feels like the world is painted in gold and he is the one holding the brush.Meanwhile, Kakuzu is pleased that his fiancé has found his inspiration – but did it really have to be the one person on earth that makes him want to rip their throat out with his teeth?An intricate tale about the allure of art and anger unravels as feelings continue to twist and turn and not everything is as it appears to be.





	1. Aether

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shipcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipcat/gifts).



> This fic is dedicated to Kitty, because she is very much the reason it exists. Thank you for your ideas, your support, all your help along the way and especially thank you for just being you! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You begin with the possibilities of the material.”

Sasori knew the name on the credit card he was holding in his hands. In fact, he even knew the card itself, having made several bigger purchases with it. ‘Kakuzu Taki,' the engraving said in bold golden letters – the name of his soon-to-be-husband. 

And, although he was so familiar with this piece of plastic, he had been staring at it for several seconds, mostly because it had not been his fiancé who had reached across the counter to hand him his card. 

“The name’s Kakuzu Taki.” 

He was pronouncing it wrong, Sasori noted, blank-faced. 

After completely butchering the name that was allegedly his own, the man who was not his fiancé waited for a reaction that never came. “The card is not working right,” he prodded. 

While this man might not be his fiancé, it was nevertheless a human he was similarly enthralled with. In fact, it was the most beautiful creature Sasori had ever seen. 

This was him. His muse. 

Despite his calm exterior, his mind raced as he desperately tried to defuse the situation in a way that would keep his newfound inspiration from getting arrested. Should he let it slip that he knew the card was stolen to scare him off? But then his muse would be gone, probably forever. 

Even this meeting was an unbelievably lucky turn of events – it seemed like Clotho and Lachesis had intertwined their fates. The first time he had seen the white-haired man had been in the park, months ago, and until now he hadn’t dared hope for a second.

Sasori could still picture that scene, clear as day. Pale skin defying the hot sun, ambitious jumps defying gravity. His board had conquered the air as if it was a chariot riding across the sky. It had been almost painful to look at this beauty of a man, his silhouette nearly indistinctive from the sun behind him. 

For hours, Sasori had tried to capture this moment – page by page, the graphite dust coating his fingertips. But he had not even come close, each line strangely crooked, each shadow inexplicably smudged. It was like trying to draw light itself.

Here in this cold monument of mammon, his muse was missing his halo of sun rays, but still remained immersed in light. The shirt he wore complemented the colour of his hair, with a cut so low that it was downright indecent. It was the very much the trashiest of looks, and yet Sasori was appreciative of every inch of exposed skin given to him so willingly. 

He was just as beautiful now as he had been then. And dumb enough to walk straight into a bank run by the person whose wallet he had stolen.

Apparently, this beautiful idiot was bright in all places but one. 

“Why don’t we discuss this issue further over lunch?” Sasori surprised himself by asking.

Likewise, the young man across him seemed startled by his sudden reaction. But soon, his eyes narrowed, and his gaze turned incredulous. 

“The hell? Is this common procedure?” 

“Oh yes, our bank takes customer satisfaction very seriously.”

His muse did not seem convinced. 

Time to resort to a strategy that always worked on his fiancé. “My treat.”

With those words, the man’s complete demeanour changed, scepticism dropping quicker than his shirt on a hot summer day. 

“You know, actually you should!” He beamed. “Because of my card problem I couldn’t get any breakfast so I’m fucking starving right now.”

\--

“Sit down,” Sasori ordered without raising his voice, natural authority seeping through. 

The young man flopped down on the chair with decidedly too much momentum, tilting the chair dangerously. Two pairs of legs, one human, one not, lifted up from the ground. Sasori watched silently, contemplating whether he should point out that this was the surest way to crack one’s skull open. Yet, after both of them had ordered their food, he dropped the act.

“You should come to my apartment and model for me.”

The Adonis sneered, still leaning back on his precariously tilted chair, flirting with a broken neck. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I know that you stole that card.”

Pale skin turned a shade paler. 

“That is some crazy shit. What are you, a fucking psychopath? Will you drain all my blood and turn me into some creepy puppet as soon as I step into your flat? Screw that.”

“I can assure you that it is nothing like that. Your features just happen to be immensely aesthetically pleasing. I would like to draw them.” 

His posture eased a bit, but he was still scrutinizing Sasori warily. 

“How did you know the card wasn’t mine?” he inquired. 

Sasori smiled fondly. “It belongs to my fiancé.”

The young man let his head fall back, exposing the column of his neck, and groaned loudly. “Ffffuck me!” His voice was breaking with chimes of laughter. He had a nice laugh. 

Sasori reached for his drink, mouth suddenly dry. 

“That’s what I’d call bad fucking luck,” his muse said.

“You are being treated to a nice lunch and nobody called the cops on you, so I would actually say your day is going quite well.” 

Hidan blinked. The emotion mirrored on his face was close to something resembling admiration.

“You have not yet told me your real name. Or should I call you Kakuzu?”

That earned him a chuckle. “The name’s Hidan.” 

“Well, the invitation stands, Hidan.”

The younger man’s gaze turned calculating. Sasori found himself wondering what the pros and cons being weighed might look like.  
“Screw it! I’m free anyway, so why not. Let’s fucking do this!”

\--

Hidan was surprisingly talkative, as Sasori learned during their car ride to his and his fiance’s apartment. He rambled on for several minutes without pause, effortlessly moving from one topic to the next, although Sasori had to admit that he had been too preoccupied – with the way Hidan’s hands moved when he talked, how long his fingers were, how nicely the green nail polish contrasted his skin – to genuinely listen. All he remembered were rants about ‘heathens’ and a lot of swear words. 

But who could blame him when he had just managed to get his muse into his car and soon, his home. His muse! He still couldn’t quite fathom his luck. Every artist needed a muse; to carry a muse meant to carry the arts, to excel in them. 

Sasori could already feel inspiration flow through him, every fiber of his being quietly vibrating, singing. Gripping the wheel tighter, he had to resist the urge to snap his fingers to see if they would spark. 

When they entered the apartment, Hidan, who had not stopped talking since they had gotten in the car, went quiet. The abrupt lack of the sound of his peculiar voice rising and falling melodically was deafening. 

They stood in the expansive living space of the vast, one-floor apartment, bright thanks to the outstretched façade of ceiling-high windows. Several columns mounted on top of steps separated the living room from the kitchen and dining area. 

A few steps led to the low-lying lounge room, where Kakuzu and Sasori spent most of their shared time together. Hidan skipped most of them. Marvelling at sophisticated seating arrangement, he trailed his pale fingers across the expensive black leather of the massive couch, craning his long neck to get a good look around the minimalistic interior design. An appreciative whistle betrayed his awe. 

Hidan stepped into the stream of light pouring through the large window front, and his form incorporated the luminescence, scintillating in the sun. 

Admiring the way his whole being contrasted sharply with the dark interior of the room, Sasori couldn’t help but feel like he belonged here, artistically speaking. His radiance and warmth introduced some much-needed tension into the reserved colour scheme of the apartment. 

When Hidan spoke again, the tense tone of his voice did not sound like a foreign melody anymore, eyes fixed stiff on the panoramic view. 

“So, you’re loaded, huh?” 

The daylight pouring in the loft seemed suddenly too harsh, accentuating the sharp features of his face. Sasori wondered whether he would prick his finger were he to touch those cheekbones in this very moment, if deep dark red would stain the whiteness of his finger and Hidan’s cheek. 

“No, my fiancé is.”

Hidan’s shoulders dropped, and as he turned his head to smile at his host, he suddenly looked a lot softer – less like a model and more like an actual twenty-three year old. Sasori’s heart skipped a beat. 

“That’s good then,” Hidan said.

And just like that, the spell was broken. Sasori scolded himself for letting another blessed moment pass, unable to eternalise its ethereal beauty. Art herself was but a fickle lover. 

But before he could get lost in his thoughts, Hidan threw himself on the expensive leather couch, sprawling as much as humanly possible.

“Draw me like one of your French girls,” he joked, adopting Rose’s pose from Titanic.

“Shouldn’t you be naked for that?” Sasori retorted, moving to a small storage room to rummage through art supplies. Some simple sketches should suffice for now, he decided, picking up some Bristol paper and a small selection of pencils. 

Weighing the sharp precision of a harder core against the warm intensity of a softer one, he turned around only to find Hidan in various stages of undressing, shirt long gone – not that it had covered much to begin with – and currently working on the belt of his jeans. 

“Hidan, I was joking. Button your pants back up. Please.”

The young man led out a sharp sound of laughter. “First time anybody ever said that to me.”

As Sasori watched his newly acquired subject zip his jeans shut, dark red boxer briefs flashing through, he concluded that he would be working with a softer graphite blend today. The soft, warm light of the afternoon sun filtering through the apartment was demanding it, really.

“Were you really willing to model in the nude?“ he asked Hidan, who, despite having finished tightening his buckle, did not show any intentions of putting his shirt back on. Instead, he started to wander around the extensive living area, slowly walking away from his host.

Sasori watched the muscles of his back move when Hidan shrugged.

“Have you never had one of these days where you thought,” he paused to open a bunch of drawers, “life is already so goddamn weird, this might as well just happen?” 

His question was followed by the rustling sound of him rummaging through the contents of the drawers. Sasori did not plan on asking him what he was looking for. 

When the redhead didn’t answer, Hidan elaborated. 

“I mean, holy shit, I walked into a fancy as fuck bank with a stolen credit card that belongs to the fucking bank manager and didn’t get my ass thrown in prison? Because for some reason - that should probably bother me by the way - the fiancé of the manager decided not to bust my ass and instead took me out for lunch.” His movements grew more frantic and his talking speed quickened in exasperation – about Sasori, himself, or just the whole situation in general he couldn’t tell – as if he was only just now processing the events leading up to him nosing through a stranger’s closets. 

“And now I’m in the fancy-ass apartment of the same goddamn bank manager because some twink wanted to draw me.”

Hidan finally stopped searching for whatever he was after, although Sasori started to suspect he wasn’t actually trying to find anything, and turned to look at him.

“So yeah. Taking my fucking clothes off wasn’t even in the top three of weird things happening today. As long as I’m not getting murdered, I’m counting this as a win.” 

Sasori held his gaze in silence. While he had to admit that this situation might be a bit unusual, he didn’t quite see the problem. Hidan was the most beautiful human being he had ever seen, so he brought him back to his home to draw him so that his beauty would be immortalised for all of time. It was only logical. 

“Why did you walk into the bank?” he asked. “You’re smarter than that.”

Hidan crossed his arms, laughing. “Nah dude, I’m really not.”

Sasori observed him closely, expecting him to start babbling again, but the white-haired man seemed to have finished his little speech for now. Retrieving a pencil from a slim tin, he sat down and gestured his guest to position himself in front of the window façade. 

The young man struck a ridiculous pose, clearly amused by the situation, but Sasori knew how hard it would be to keep this kind of position for a long period of time and did a quick, rough sketch to get a feeling for his body type. The redhead’s eyes flicked between his model and his drawing paper, paying close attention to every detail, every slope of muscle and every line of bone under skin. 

After an admirable twenty minutes of silent sketching, Hidan grew visibly restless, mentally and physically, and changed position. 

“So what, you’re a banker by day and an artist by night? Fuck, are you Banksy? I always thought he would be taller,” he contemplated loudly.

“Don’t talk.” 

Hidan turned his head to grin at him.

“You’re expecting me to sit here and not talk for hours? Shit, man, I don’t think I can do that.”

“Don’t move,” Sasori reprimanded. He stood up to move his model’s face away from him, with a single finger on his strong jaw. 

“Bossy. I like it.” The twinkle in Hidan’s eyes was full of mischief. 

Sasori couldn’t help but return the smile. The young man’s presence here would come as a huge surprise to Kakuzu. And his fiancé despised little more than being surprised and unprepared, his need for control barring him from ever being caught off guard. 

He would regret asking for that prenup in a matter of days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I’d love to hear from you if you liked it, here in the comments or on Tumblr under [kakuzuisabigidiotwholoveshidan.tumblr.com](%E2%80%9Cwww.kakuzuisabigidiotwholovestumblr.com%E2%80%9C)!
> 
> The next chapter will be called “Erebus”.


	2. Erebus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Temper is a weapon held by the blade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuous thanks to the wonderful shipcat for being an amazing editor!

As soon as he laid eyes on the intruder in his home, something ancient startled awake inside of him. Throwing off civility, it opened its eyes. Defying propriety, it rose up. Its jaw cracked with suppressed anger as it yawned, its joints crackling a song of havoc as it stretched, ready to attack. And attack he did.

Kakuzu tackled the stranger without thinking twice. 

Familiar magenta eyes stared up at him, wide with shock. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture,” the criminal purred, relaxing in Kakuzu’s arms, “but aren’t you being a little bit forward? We only just met.” His tone was sweeter and stickier than dark honey. 

“You!”

Hidan did a little ta-da gesture with his hands. “The one and only.” 

It was that thieving bastard from last night. Had he seen the address on his cards and decided to clear out the place? The thought that Sasori might have been home when he had broken in made Kakuzu’s blood run cold, sharp splinters of icy fear piercing his insides. 

“Robbing my home is a decision you will regret,” he declared, slamming his fist into the invader’s face. A broken nose should incapacitate him long enough for Kakuzu to sweep the apartment for potential accomplices and his beloved. 

Only that his opponent’s face was no longer there – in the blink of an eye, Hidan jerked his head out of the line of fire. Kakuzu’s hand smashed into the parquet floor with a resounding crack, silver hair waving slightly from the force of the strike. That audacious brat.

The boy’s eyes darted back and forth between the banker’s face and his fist, visibly shaken by this show of raw force. Good. If he had laid a finger on Sasori, Kakuzu would not hold back. 

But in a second, shock dissipated into awe.

“Wow, that must have hurt like hell!” This brat had the guts to sound impressed. What was wrong with this guy? 

Before their confrontation could escalate further, his fiancé chimed in from the kitchen. “Don’t be rude to our guest, dear.”

Kakuzu froze at the sound of Sasori’s voice, eyes widening. From all the possible outcomes of this scenario, he had not calculated for this one. 

“Kakuzu, this is Hidan. Hidan, this is my fiancé whose wallet you stole. Please pardon his behaviour.”

Both men turned to look at Sasori before looking at each other again. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate having you on top of me, but you’re a bit heavy, big guy,” Hidan joked, patting Kakuzu’s upper arm, only to cup his biceps and whistle appreciatively. 

Kakuzu recoiled from his grip and stood up, staring down at the man at his feet full of disgust.

Hidan simply smirked. 

Joining his fiancé in the kitchen, the banker silently watched him cut fruit into precise little cubes before he spoke up, voice low in the hope that Hidan wouldn’t overhear their conversation. 

“What were you thinking bringing this trashy twink in our home?” he seethed, barely containing his rage. 

“Excuse you, I’m clearly a twunk!” hollered Hidan from the living room. Kakuzu felt a headache approaching; he wasn’t even going to dignify this interjection asking what the hell a twunk was.

“He’s my muse,” Sasori answered.

“Your what?!”

“We had a lovely lunch and then I asked him if I could draw him,” Sasori continued, ignoring the interruption. “He agreed and so here we are.”

“Sasori, it is nearly eight o’clock.”

His fiancé looked out of their vast panorama window, feigning surprise at the fast advancement of time, even though he must have been well aware of the fact that the sun had set hours ago – after all, their whole apartment was shrouded in darkness. 

“I had such a mesmerising subject, time must have gotten away from me,” he claimed, not even trying to sound convincing. 

“You are just trying to provoke me.”

“No, I would never do something to deliberately upset you, dear,” he responded, voice dry as kindling.

Kakuzu watched the sharp blade of a peeling knife drag across the surface of the ruby-red apple in Sasori’s hand, exposing the vulnerable flesh beneath the protective skin.

“This is because of the prenup, isn’t it?” he finally asked through clenched teeth.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Kakuzu sighed. His fiancé’s constant denial had always been an endearing quality of his, but that was before it had been directed at him. Watching others squirm tended to be more fun. 

“You’ve been expertly avoiding the subject, but our relationship has been strained since I brought it up a few months ago. Sooner or later we’ll have to talk about this.”

“Excuse me if I don’t want to talk about the fact that you’re already thinking about breaking up before we’re even married. I thought our relationship was meant to last.” 

“It is! That’s why you don’t have to worry about the prenup.”

“If what we have is truly eternal, we won’t need a prenup.” 

“It’s just a formality.” 

“Divorce is not a possibility I will acknowledge, not even in the subjunctive.”

Kakuzu pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re overreacting.” 

“We’ve been together for over a decade – no major bumps, no big fights, no ‘I’m leaving you!’ – and now you’re starting to doubt our love?” Sasori hissed. “I won’t accept that. No. If you want to marry me, you’ll have to stop clinging to that prenup.” 

With that, he turned on his heel to join Hidan, who was lounging in the living room, leaving his fiancé behind in the kitchen with a lot of qualms, doubts and a pounding headache. 

\--

From that day on, Hidan presence in the apartment was a near constant. He was like some untameable weed that was pulled out one day, only to grow back overnight and return in all its glory on the next. 

Objectively speaking, Kakuzu had no grounds to complain: His fiancé wasn’t cheating on him – venerated their love too highly to ever do such a thing – and in the abstract there was nothing wrong with Hidan modelling for Sasori. But by god, did he hate that bastard. 

His behaviour continued to be awful, declining, even, as he consistently flirted with everything that moved, aimlessly targeting whoever was closest.

He used his looks to his advantage, rarely wearing a shirt, flaunting himself in front of Sasori, strutting around their apartment like a stag in heat. If he did wear one, it was usually full of artistically placed holes or had such an obscenely low neckline that it barely counted at wearing something at all. 

The boy was the embodiment of sheer arrogance. Being this conceited, it seemed like it was merely a matter of time before he would spot his reflection on the surface of a pond and drown in the attempt to kiss it. 

Just as perseverant was his ceaseless rambling, only entertaining the most trivial of talking points. His voice had a strangely trilling quality to it that reminded him of a prancing peacock, spreading its tail feathers to mate with the first available human in sight.  
Every single thing he did and said enticed Kakuzu to hunt him for sports. 

The worst part was that his haphazard nature seemed to infect his soon-to-be husband. One day, Kakuzu came home to his fiancé and that brat lounging on the couch, painting each other’s nails. Sasori had even started to use some of his vacation days.

No, the actual worst part was that he couldn’t just kill him and feed him to the dogs, since Sasori was the happiest he’d been in months – drawing Hidan seemed to take his mind off the prenup. Maybe he had indeed found his muse in this rut. 

The only thought that kept him sane was that Sasori’s infatuation surely was to blow over soon, he simply had to get this fascination out of his system and would then gently place Hidan back in the gutter where he belonged. 

Right now, however, his fiancé didn’t even care about the constantly changing canvas of bruises that covered Hidan’s body like a rampantly growing moss, all shades of blue and green and brown and purple. A clear sign of the threat he posed. 

But no. According to Sasori, they posed ‘a challenge’ and ‘kept things interesting’. Apparently, the way the colours interacted with different light sources was ‘truly magnificent’ and only added to the ‘vast possibilities of drawing his muse’. 

When he went hunting for answers himself, the only reward was a migraine and fury pooling low in his gut. 

“Care to explain why you have so many bruises?” Kakuzu inquired one evening, careful to let nothing but boredom bleed into his voice. They were alone for once, Hidan sprawled across their couch as always, he reading at the kitchen table as of recently. 

“Sasori went wild during sex last night,” came the teasing answer.

Although Kakuzu knew he was lying – he obviously was, his fiancé had spent the night in their shared bed – the mental image still managed to worm its way under his skin, hooking its barbs into his flesh, intent to devour him whole. 

“Shut up Hidan,” he growled, jaw tight, barely constricting his anger. 

The younger man let his head fall back against the couch, meeting his gaze across the room, upside down. A few strands of his hair were unable to escape the pull of gravity, slipping from their carefully groomed position like stray feathers. When he answered, the corner of his lips curled downwards into a sly smile. “Make me.”

Before he was aware of it, Kakuzu was halfway across the room, hands aching to close around soft flesh. When he got himself back under control and stopped, it was too late. Hidan already looked like the cat that got the canary. 

This kept happening, Hidan making him do things that he didn’t intend to do. Feeding his ire till it took over. More and more, his anger felt larger than his body, like he’d have to detach several limbs to give room to its writhing messiness. Like suddenly a feral beast had built its nest inside his body, waiting to pounce once provoked in the slightest. 

As he stood there, silently watching a smirking Hidan, it felt monstrous and ferocious. His pulse thundered through his veins as if it was fuelled by five hearts instead of one. 

\--

Darkness trickled down from the night sky as Kakuzu walked home, catching on the buildings like tar, threatening to suffocate the city and him with it. The moonshine did nothing to cut through the viscous dark mass, light illusive and lacklustre. The stinging cold cut an inch deeper each night as the descending dusk crept further into the day, dethroning the sun of its supreme rule and marking its conquered territory by turning warm puffs of breath into white fog.

Kakuzu’s mood was already sour after a particularly taxing day at the bank. The sight of a smug, whistling Hidan leaving his apartment building did nothing to improve it. Although the hood of his black jacket concealed his trademark hair, he was easily recognisable by his gait alone – something Kakuzu would prefer not to know, coming at the expense of having to watch that brat parade around his apartment for a week. 

Stalking up on his unsuspecting prey, he intended to end this madness once and for all. A swift bite to the throat and this would finally be over. 

Hidan’s body hit the brick wall behind him with a groan.

“Stop. Coming. Here,” Kakuzu warned, emphasising each word with a shove, fists curled around the other man’s collar. 

“Eat. A. Dick,” Hidan parroted, unfaced by the threatening demeanour. 

Kakuzu growled and lifted him up by the collar, forcing the bastard to stand on his tiptoes or lose his footing. The jacket rode up and revealed a strip of snow in the darkness surrounding them. 

“I don’t like repeating myself,” he hissed. “Stop coming here. Forget this address. I don’t want to see your face again.” 

“You’re only mad ‘cause I bested you. You fell prey to my nimble fingers, fuckface,” Hidan teased, obnoxiously wiggling said fingers in front of the banker’s face, but another shove caused him to drop his hands quickly enough – although now they were covering his own, seeking to stabilise himself.

“I’m mad because you stole from me,” Kakuzu spit. 

“Come on man, you didn’t even lose any money. I’ve never seen someone cancel their credit cards this quickly.”

“Stop coming here or I’ll hurt you.” 

Hidan bared his teeth, revealing sharp canines. “Prove it.” 

He didn’t have to ask twice. After nearly two weeks of watching that fucker flounce around his apartment like he owned the place, burying his fist in Hidan’s stomach felt good, too good. Better than counting a large sum of money, even. 

The kid promptly doubled over. Grabbing him by the neck, Kakuzu leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“I don’t want street scum like you near my home or my husband.” 

In hindsight, he should have known better than to come near a wounded animal. With surprising speed, Hidan used Kakuzu’s close grip on him to his advantage – locking his fingers behind Kakuzu’s head and kneeing him straight in the face, mercifully missing the nose. It would have been broken with the force of the strike. 

Pink eyes. The night sky. The pavement. Then shortly, nothing. 

Two moons swam in the sky. Blinking, Kakuzu fought to gain back control over his sense of vision, but he must have been hit harder than he thought. There were two moons - two, when there was supposed to be only one.

Except – one of the shimmery spots wasn’t celestial at all. It was a dark silhouette towering above him, silver hair glowing in the moonlight. 

“I know guys like you,” the dark figure preached. “Bankers, politicians, all these rich pretentious assholes that hurt people from a safe distance without ever getting their hands dirty. Fuck them! And fuck you in particular!” 

Kakuzu swept its legs. Hidan, apparently not expecting this quick of a recovery, hit the ground with a thud. The banker was on top of him in mere seconds. 

“As you might be able to deduce from my knuckles in your face, I’m not scared to get my hands dirty. Not at all,” he taunted, raising his arm for another blow. 

But he never got to fulfil his promise. Hidan disappeared from beneath him in a flurry of motions, biting night air replacing the heat of his body. 

Now they were warily eying each other with barely any distance between them, both anticipating another attack. Hunching on the ground like this, moments away from another clash of skin and bone, felt quite feral. Like two beasts circling each other. 

“No bank director has that kind of apartment – you obviously pull some illegal shit on the side. What is it? Insider trading? Embezzlement?”

Kakuzu’s eyebrows shot up, disbelief manifesting itself in his features. The brat was smarter than he looked, not only making that connection, but also using the knowledge to his advantage in a fight. This could prove dangerous. 

“What makes you think it’s not Sasori who’s doubling in the ‘illegal shit’?”

Hidan tsked derisively as he stood up, not bothering to check his clothes for damage. 

“Sas doesn’t care about money, he’s a decent person. You – you are not.” 

To punctuate his statement, he spit on the ground in front of Kakuzu, his face a mask of contempt. But instead of engaging again, Hidan pulled the black hood back over his silvery hair, buried his hands in the depths of his jacket and turned to leave. 

As his black frame disappeared into the night, darkness welcoming him home with cold fingers, he seemed like a shadow from the night Kakuzu had first seen him. Though the eerie echo was distorted quickly when Hidan yanked his hands out of his pockets to thoroughly flip him the bird.

Watching the punk walk away, two pale middle fingers raised into the dark air, Kakuzu pulled out his phone and dialled an unnamed contact. 

“Zetsu – I need you to look into someone,” he ordered as soon as the line connected, voice sharp. 

As innocent as the boy looked, he was most certainly a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I’d love to hear from you, so feel free to ask questions or share ideas in the comments or catch me on Tumblr under [kakuzuisabigidiotwholoveshidan.tumblr.com](%E2%80%9Cwww.kakuzuisabigidiotwholovestumblr.com%E2%80%9C) :3 
> 
> The next chapter is called "Hestia".


	3. Hestia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> “Art consists of limitations.”  
> 

Kakuzu absolutely despised Hidan. In the past weeks, Sasori had already caught them at each other’s throat three separate times, and those were only the instances he knew of. 

It was as if Hidan had been made by some vengeful god to antagonise his fiancé specifically, the way his every move seemed to rile him up. The white-haired man could not as much as twist one of his astonishingly shaped eyebrows without Kakuzu positively seething behind his newspaper. 

It was perfect. 

\---

His fiancé let his eyes roam over Hidan’s personal belongings scattered across the department, growing in number with each passing day. Displeasure redrew the strong lines of his face. 

“That guy is an enigma. He practically lives here now and yet we know nothing about him. He might be a prostitute, you know. Or makes his money in illegal cage fights.” 

Sasori took a sip of his coffee, face void of expression. “We should consider ourselves lucky that we don’t have to pay him, then.”  
His fiancé visibly stifled the urge to throw his hands in the air in exasperation. 

“You know,” Sasori started, “if you’d take the time to talk to him you might actually learn something about him.”

Kakuzu scoffed, his scepticism just as bitter as the coffee on the redhead’s tongue. 

“Like what? That he’s in a gang?”

“That he skateboards. He’s really good, actually, even competes professionally. And he’s a hothead, always looking for ways to prove his worth. For ways to belong. Does that ring a bell?”

Kakuzu shot him a warning look and Sasori discreetly bit his lip, knowing all too well how Kakuzu felt about the topic of his youth.  
"You’re aware of the fact that one day we'll come home from work and all of our stuff will be gone, right?" he tried to argue.

But Sasori simply shrugged. “All your stuff, you mean. According to the prenup.”

Kakuzu sighed. “That again.”

“The foundation of our relationship is and always has been trust. I can’t believe you’re willing to jeopardise that for something as stupid as a prenup.” 

“I’m only trying to protect you!”

“You’re only trying to protect yourself.”

Forcefully, Kakuzu rose up from his chair and slammed his hands on the polished surface. The impact splattered coffee over the wooden table. The brown liquid pooled into a strait between the cups like Scylla was on one side and Charybdis on the other. 

“You talk about trust, yet you have none in your own husband. You know what I do to earn my money. A prenup would protect you from having to suffer the consequences of my choices,” he declared vehemently.

Sasori fell silent. Wavered. Flickered. Recovered. Reiterated. 

“That is a risk I’m willing to take. My parents didn’t have a prenup, so we’re not getting one either.” 

“We’re not your parents. Things have changed since then – now every couple gets a prenup. It’s standard procedure. It doesn’t say anything about a marriage failing or succeeding.”

“True love is eternal. I won’t introduce the possibility of divorce into our marriage, so if we marry, it’s without a prenup.” 

“If we marry?” Kakuzu echoed, voice hollow. “Look who’s jeopardising the foundation of our relationship now.”

Sasori tried not to flinch when Kakuzu stormed out, door slamming behind him. 

He nearly succeeded. 

\---

A peaceful silence held the apartment under its spell as the artist orbited around his muse, bound by an astral pull. 

Until Sasori broke it. 

“Why did you steal the wallet?”

Hidan, who laid bathing in light, turned to look at him, taken aback.

“Don’t move,” Sasori ordered. “Just answer. You obviously don’t need the money.”

His muse made a noise of protest. “Of fucking course I do!”

“Those are Levi jeans. Latest model. Your cologne is [_Acqua di Gio_](https://www.giorgioarmanibeauty-usa.com/fragrances/mens-fragrances/acqua-di-gio/acqua-di-gio-eau-de-toilette/A005.html#start=2&cgid=F3_FRAGRANCES_HIM_GA_ADG). And don’t get me started on your hair.” 

“Ex-fucking-cuse me for liking to smell nice,” Hidan grumbled quietly in lieu of an answer. 

“And I appreciate that,” Sasori stated, faint smile on his lips as he inhaled the clean scent of sunbeams and saltwater. “I do.” Then, he gravitated back to the crux of the matter. 

“I still need an answer though. My beloved fiancé is very concerned about the well-being of his belongings.” 

Hidan sighed deeply and rolled his eyes, annoyed. “It’s fucking fun, okay? When you pickpocket some rich shit you get this burst of joy in your chest. Like you just accomplished something. You did something difficult and succeeded. That feeling is nice as fuck.

“And you get some fucking attention for once,” he added, voice but a murmur. The roll of his shoulders spoke of discomfort. 

“From the police?” the redhead probed. 

Hidan hummed noncommittally and the room fell silent again.

The only audible sound was the faint scraping of Sasori drawing on paper. He was using charcoal today, in the hope of finally capturing the strange and mesmerising way his muse set the whole room ablaze with light, igniting the air around him. 

But he wasn’t making as much progress as he’d liked, Hidan’s beauty still far out of reach. Why it was so difficult to immortalise eternity, he didn’t know. All that he wanted was to take that hot summer day, his golden boy in the shimmering heat, a halo of sunshine around his head, and capture him on paper so that his resplendence could withstand the test of time. 

He had already changed his medium three times, had moved from pencil to pastels, from pens to acrylic paints, none of them capable of encompassing the brilliant brightness in front of him. 

Maybe Hidan was burning too brightly, a glaring flare of phosphorus obscuring his artistic vision.

It was hard to draw something that blinded you. 

Or rather it was the pose that was wrong, he thought, moving to reposition his muse. The boy leaned into his hands, relinquishing complete control of his body. Although pleased with the ability to bend flesh to his will, Sasori was still astonished by the sheer amount of trust Hidan was willing to place in his hands.

A man of violence with skin like marble, its softness only revealing itself upon collision – it was difficult not to marvel at that. 

Sasori let his hand linger, mindlessly watching the dents the press of his fingers caused as soft skin yielded under their pressure. An [image](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/ea/Rape_of_Prosepina_September_2015-2b.jpg) flashed across his mind, the strong hands of a sculptured Pluto clutching a struggling Proserpina as he drags her to his realm, claiming her for all eternity. 

But unlike Bernini’s masterpiece, his art was laid bare beneath him oh so willingly. Pliant and malleable, like warm wax that left its ghostly residue on your skin, impossible to remove. 

Snapping back to the present, he yanked his fingers away from Hidan’s skin as if burned. Then, he took a deep breath and a step back. Hidan’s eyes followed him, an indecipherable expression on his face. 

\---

Sasori and Kakuzu had easily fallen back into their shared morning routine after yesterday’s argument. It was an intricate dance, practised and perfected over the years under Terpsichore’s watchful eyes.

The two men were quite the picture together, shirts pressed, Oxford’s polished. Suits immaculate. Perfectly synchronised, they moved through the apartment together to the sound of a music only they could hear.

While his fiancé was packing his briefcase, Sasori was making their coffee, knowing Kakuzu’s preferences by heart. 

They were at ease with each other, effortlessly and intuitively making space for the other in a harmonious flow of motions. 

Sasori handed his fiancé a cup of coffee, milk, no sugar, and then proceeded to give him a sceptical once-over before stepping closer to fix his tie. The larger man used the opportunity to press a quick but loving kiss to the forehead right in front of him. 

Smiling, Sasori looked up at him and stood on his tiptoes to return the favour. After brushing an invisible speck of dust off the expensive suit, he seemed pleased with the appearance of his beloved and gave a satisfied nod. 

Neither of them had spoken during this quiet exchange, their mutual understanding beyond words. 

\---

“Could you tense your abdominal muscles for me? I’d love to have more of a contrast here.”

Hidan complied eagerly and Sasori’s hand began flitting over the paper. 

“I have abs too, you know,” rumbled Kakuzu’s deep voice from their open kitchen space. Judging by the sound of the boiling kettle, he was preparing some tea to take with him into his study, where he was without a doubt using the last remains of the afternoon light to work. 

“I wouldn’t know, it’s been weeks since I last saw them,” Sasori replied calmly, shading his drawing and his husband alike. 

Hidan fell from the stool he had been precariously perched on, body alit with laughter. 

\---

“Why are you even in a relationship with that old geezer? You’re way too hot for him. And I bet he only cares about money.”

The question came out of nowhere. Well, not completely out of nowhere, probably, Hidan had been talking for a while now, but Sasori hadn’t listened. He rarely did. Hidan’s voice was a wonderful melody to have around while he worked though, rising and ebbing like the sea. 

“I know Kakuzu can seem quite rough. But he is surprisingly gentle if he wants to.” His face softened as he remembered the tender press of lips on his forehead. 

“His sense of humour is just as dry as the books he reads. He’s stoic, yet impulsive. Strong. Reliable. Sometimes he forgets that the whole world isn’t out to get him. But he’s always been there for me.” 

Sasori paused for a moment, musing over how much of his past he wanted to bring to light. 

“After my parents died, for a long time all I felt was loneliness. This deep, aching hole that drained the world of its colour.” 

His eyes flicked to Hidan, catching a glimpse of his reaction. The young man was looking at him with those sun-soaked eyes, hanging on Sasori’s lips like they were a lifeline. 

“When I first started spending time with Kakuzu, I was able to forget that feeling. Just for a short while. Being with him felt natural, and easy. Safe. And as we continued to spend time together, the all-engulfing maelstrom lost its lure,” he explained, not looking up from his sketch. 

“Now I rarely feel lonely.”

The warm atmosphere in the sunlit room had completely shifted, languid enjoyment supplanted by silent contemplation. Hidan did not offer his condolences, as Sasori had presumed, and he was grateful for it. 

“I never met my father, you know. But at least my mom was there,” he replied instead. And then, quieter. “Tried to be, at least.”  
Sasori hummed his understanding, not wanting to press the issue.

\---

Sasori stood in a river under a tree, its branches drawn down by the weight of its fruits. The prettiest one was hanging right in front of him, just inches away, crimson skin glistening in the sun. He only had to reach his hand out to grasp it. It was so close that he could feel its velvety plumpness in his hand, its sweet nectar staining his lips red, its rich aroma heavy on his tongue. 

But as he raised his hand to pluck the beauty from where it hung in the sky, it was just out of reach. He extended his arms further, the fruit just inches away, yet still out of reach. 

Elongating his whole body, Sasori reached once more, eager to feel its flavour bursting in his mouth, desperate to devour it whole. His fingers brushed its skin; he could already feel its softness on his lips. And yet, he was unable to snatch it from its branch, just inches away. 

It was right there, he only needed to stretch a little bit further to - 

The crack of wood resounded in his ears. Sasori blinked. The pencil he was holding had broken in two. 

Slowly returning from his haze, he watched the splinters of wood in his hand, his eyes accustoming to the fact that they were brown and sharp instead of red and smooth. 

There might be the slight chance that he was less satisfied with the results of his work than he cared to admit. His closet was already bursting with the surplus of art supplies he had acquired in the attempt to capture his muse on canvas to keep him for all of eternity. But so far, all in vain. 

The words of Salvador Dalí echoed in his head. ‘Drawing is the honesty of the art. There is no possibility of cheating.’

While the art he produced wasn’t bad, far from it, it was still never quite right, never quite – 

Hidan was flipping through the abundance of drawings and sketches surrounding him – each and every one of them reflecting his face as if he was leafing through a set of mirrors. 

“Why do you keep drawing? These are perfect.” 

Well, maybe it was time to cheat. 

“They’re not. They don’t capture your essence. We’ll have to continue trying until I get it right.”

Hidan shrugged, seemingly not at all bothered by the implications of Sasori’s demand. 

Contemplating his next course of action, Sasori watched the young man for an amount of time that would have made anyone uncomfortable. But not Hidan. He simply held his gaze, a soft smile on his lips and the afternoon sun at his back. 

Sasori wondered if he had already gotten used to being viewed as art. 

If drawing wasn’t working, he would just have to experiment with other materials, look for other ways to catch his muse. And if that meant that Hidan had to continue lounging around their apartment, aggravating Kakuzu beyond compare, who was he to complain? 

“You know, this apartment is very important to Kakuzu,” the redhead started. “It’s his sanctuary. And it would probably be his worst nightmare if some stranger he didn’t like made a copy of the key so that he could come and go whenever he wanted.” During his explanation, Sasori took out his keychain and removed a particular one, laying it down on the table in front of him.

“So I’m leaving my key to the apartment here in the knowledge that neither of us would ever betray his trust like that. Understood?”

Hidan tried and failed to contain his genuine excitement, evident from the big grin plastered across his face. He was practically beaming. 

“Got it, Sas. We wouldn’t want that,” he replied, already looking up locksmiths on his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter, I'm always so happy to hear that people liked the story <3 And, as with the last chapters, I'm excited to read your thoughts and theories here or on tumblr!
> 
> I also made a moodboard for this (and, spoiler alert, the fifth) chapter, which you can find [here](https://kakuzuisabigidiotwholoveshidan.tumblr.com/post/185921673091/guess-who-made-a-moodboard-for-the-third-and).
> 
> As a little hint what will happen in the next chapter - it will be called "Ares".


	4. Ares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why our ribs are cages.”

“That client of yours – he’s interesting,” sounded a muffled voice through the speaker of Kakuzu’s phone. The voice belonged to Zetsu, the private investigator Kakuzu hired to check on possible clients and investors before involving them in some of his more sensitive business deals. He did not tend to disappoint. 

“He’s not a client. He’s a parasite,” Kakuzu growled. 

“Anyway, he’s really something. I had to do a lot of digging and still didn’t find all the answers I wanted. A lot of documents sealed shut, a lot of people not remembering things, a lot of evidence missing.”

Kakuzu suppressed a sigh and tilted his head back to watch the dots of light speckled across the night sky like freckles across skin.

“But you found something? Or did you just call me to complain?”

“Short on patience, aren’t we? Yes, I did. That guy practically lives in the police station. He breaks laws like world records and has been charged with just about every crime you can be possibly charged with. Theft, assault, battery, vandalism, disorderly conduct, public indecency, drug possession, breaking and entering, and – get this – heavy use of profanity. I’ve never seen someone get arrested for that before. It’s actually kind of impressive.”

“So he’s a convicted felon?” Kakuzu’s tone turned hopeful. Faced with the evidence of Hidan’s multitude of crimes, his fiancé would have no other choice than to kick that mutt to the curb where he belonged. 

“You’d think that, especially considering his background. Immigrant, raised by a single mother, moved a lot and never to the nice parts of town. But no. The charges were always dropped or he was acquitted.”

The phone in Kakuzu’s hand cracked suspiciously, not built for the amount of pressure it was currently under. He had to remind himself to take a deep breath or pay for a new cell phone.

“You just read me a sheer endless list of crimes. How is that even possible?”

“A weird mixture of victims withdrawing the charges, witnesses retracting their statements, really expensive lawyers and what seems to be just dumb luck. It’s like he’s protected by some kind of deity.”

“Where did he get the lawyer money?” he demanded, recalling Hidan’s unusual knowledge of his business deals.

“No idea. Lots of offshore accounts. Tracing them back to an actual person is like trying to catch a cloud.” 

“Dig deeper then. Hunt him down. I want that squatter out of my house.”

“Will do, boss,” Zetsu replied, and with a distant click the line went dead. 

\--

When the door fell shut behind him after another late evening at the bank, Kakuzu was greeted with the most unpleasant of sights. 

“Hidan, why the fuck are you naked?” He tried to keep his voice levelled, even though his fiancé didn’t seem to be around. 

“Sasori wanted to try drawing nudes, so I got undressed. You can hardly hold that against me. Although I wouldn’t mind if you did,” the younger man teased, lewd grin sprawled across his face as he put his pants back on.

“Shut up Hidan,” he sighed, not willing to take the bait. 

“Aw, are you frustrated because you haven’t been getting any lately? Must be hard watching your fiancé getting an art boner every time he sees me,” Hidan continued, stalking up to the larger man. 

Kakuzu took one forceful step forward, furious. 

“Shut. Up.” 

“I’m only preaching the truth! It’s not my fault Sas realised he’s too good for your saggy old balls and wants a hot piece of ass instead.” 

In a heartbeat, Hidan was pinned against the wall, forearm pressed into his throat. The squeeze was a clear threat to be quiet or be silenced, yet Hidan stuck his chin out defiantly, his eyes flashing with delight. 

“Seems like I’ve struck a nerve,” he gasped out, unable to hold his tongue even for a second. 

“If you can’t be quiet on your own, I’ll make you.”

In a split second, Hidan’s eyes darted down to his lips and back up again. 

“I’d love to see you try,” he sneered, completely unbothered by the arm constricting his airway. 

Kakuzu was happy to comply. Deep satisfaction flooded through him when he put more of his weight on the other man, applying more and more pressure to his trachea. But before he could thoroughly enjoy the sweet sound of Hidan gasping for air, the younger man slammed his open hands against the sides of Kakuzu’s head. 

Ears flooded with the static of the void, he stumbled back, trying to reorient himself. Hidan took the chance to kick him in the chest point-blank. Kakuzu breathed blades. 

Shoulders squared and spine arrow-straight, Hidan watched him take trembling breaths. He was waiting, the older man realized. 

He tried to take several swings at him, all in vain. Hidan dodged each with surprising ease, cocky grin never leaving his lips. Kakuzu wanted nothing more than to wipe it off with his fists, the howling beast in his veins prodding him on.

Then a left hook finally found its target. 

Blood spilled like wine. Hidan carefully touched his lips and grinned manically when his fingers returned stained with crimson. He licked the blood away, humming. No, purring. 

“A good start. Now let me taste some of yours,” he cackled. 

Years of training kicked in and Kakuzu raised his fists in front of his head, protecting his face. Hidan laughed. 

“Those would only help you if I were aiming for your head, old man.” 

And lunged. 

His necklace swung violently, argent flashing in the moonlight. They exchanged blows, jabbing at temples, striking at jaws. A strange form of venery with an odd kind of grace. Bloodied knuckles stained skin pink. 

Iron was singing in his blood when he caught Hidan’s fist. Bones cracked as he squeezed, forcing his opponent to his knees. Hidan’s arm shook with the effort of attempting to free himself, but only a feral snarl escaped. 

Just as Kakuzu was going to finish him off, Hidan bit the hand holding him in place. Teeth buried themselves in the soft tissue between his thumb and index finger. 

The older man released his grip with a groan. Shaking his injured hand, he stared at Hidan incredulously. The brat was fighting dirty. Using every cheap trick out there and then some, tricks Kakuzu hadn’t even thought of. No rules, no civility, no scrap of decency. 

As if to prove his point, Hidan kicked his opponent’s Achilles with full force. Kakuzu fell on his knees as Hidan rose to his feet. Grabbing him by the hair, he forcefully tilted the banker’s head upwards. 

“That was too damn easy. Fucking pathetic. I’m kinda disappointed, not gonna lie. Was lookin’ forward to a good fight, but I guess you’re not that special after all.” 

This taunt spit in his face was followed by a knee in his jaw. Pain embraced him as his body hit the ground. The light of the full moon crept through the room like a carnivore on the prowl as a triumphant Hidan circled around Kakuzu, watching him writhe in pain. 

At that sight, the beast inside Kakuzu’s chest shook its massive head, growling. It rose to its feet like a primordial god of rage and ire, unbound from its chains, and, with a roar, expelled the aches from his body. 

He pounced. Hidan was beneath him before he could make a sound. Kakuzu wrestled his wrists to the ground and brought his face close to Hidan’s, now twisted in ferocity. 

“You’ll be out of my hair soon. Sasori just needs to get this out of his system. He’ll discard you quickly enough – it wouldn’t be the first time. You’re completely disposable.” 

If Kakuzu was exaggerating to get a reaction out of Hidan, who could blame him? Seeing the hurt in this little fucker's eyes was just too damn satisfying.

“Shut your fucking whore mouth!” 

Hidan snapped at him, bared teeth glinting in the moonlight. Kakuzu pulled back in the nick of time, only to be elbowed. He staggered back, eyes wild, and threw himself at Hidan again. 

Locked together and breathing heavily, they rolled across the floor, a flurry ball of violent movement and clenched teeth. Kakuzu sunk into Hidan’s raw, brutal energy, as novel as a splash of freezing water, and yet so disturbingly familiar when it immersed him wholly. One second, he was the prey, fighting desperately for his life, the next he was the predator, going in for the kill. 

Blunt nails tried to claw their way inside his flesh. Ragged breaths blew hot puffs of air onto his skin. Strained muscles quivered beneath his hands.

And arousal seeped into his anger like blood into a body of water. 

As he straddled Hidan’s hips, he could instantly tell how much their scuffling had affected his opponent – their breathing was not the only thing that was hard from their fight. But far more vexing was the fact that his own erection was complementing the one currently rubbing against him. 

Hidan inhaled sharply when their groins touched and licked his lips. Their eyes met and Hidan’s smug smile was an invitation, a challenge, and an insult all at once. Tasting a beating heart was suddenly no longer the only reason Kakuzu wanted to drag his teeth across the bare chest beneath him. 

A key turned in the lock of the front door. 

The sound cleaved them asunder, announcing Sasori’s return from his errand. They immediately dispersed to opposite sides of the room, as far away from each other as possible. 

\--

The ice bag struck his cheek like a fist, but then relief took root and soothed his skin where Hidan’s assaults had left it red and hot and angry. His right hand still hurt. Slowly, Kakuzu clenched and unclenched it in the attempt to ease the pain. 

He refused to admit that his ability to take a punch had diminished since his last fight many years ago. 

Lying closely beside him, Sasori was reading before going to sleep, a ritual they had shared for years. With delicate features like porcelain, hair rose red and brows just slightly furrowed over his book, Kakuzu wanted to kiss each and every part of him. 

When he glanced at Sasori again, his fiancé returned the look, a mischievous smile on his lips. As always, he knew Kakuzu better than he knew himself. 

The older man sat the ice bag aside and began to read his lover’s skin like a poem, each kiss a new verse, each caress a new stanza. His lips trailed down the other’s neck like a quill on parchment and when his hand slid under Sasori’s shirt and touched smooth, cool skin, he wrote a sonnet with the brush of his fingertips. 

Sasori buried his fingers in long, dark hair and tugged slightly, well aware that his fiancé appreciated the sharp pinch of pain during their romantic encounters. He, on the other hand, positively loathed it. Kakuzu’s breathing quickened as his arousal grew. 

They bloomed together like a summer’s day, each drag of skin a hymn to Erato. 

Kakuzu pulled Sasori down towards him and when their lips met, they rhymed. 

He broke their kiss to remove his shirt, but instantly covered the redhead’s body with his own again -- each second spent apart was a tragedy. Kakuzu’s desire dashed forward to the quickening drum of Sasori’s heart, beating like the impelling rhythm of an iambic verse. Their sighs and moans mingled to create the metre of their love.

But before Kakuzu could take off his fiancé’s shirt, Sasori disrupted their erotic pleasures with volta precision. 

“The fight with Hidan turned you on, huh?”

Kakuzu stopped dead in his tracks. To answer that question, his brain needed the blood currently pooling in other parts of his body. Sasori, on the other hand, was fully prepared.

That scheming devil. Knowing the man he loved, Sasori could have asked this a lot earlier, but had purposely waited until his fiancé was too aroused to properly respond. 

“No.” It took Kakuzu way too long to reply. 

“Please. I can spot you sporting a semi from miles away.”

He grunted noncommittally and threw himself back down on his side of the bed, frustrated. The mood was ruined, but his erection hadn’t gotten the message yet. 

“Aren’t you worried about me beating up your pretty little art project?” he tried to deflect. 

“Not at all.” Sasori shot him an amused look. “He loves it and is more than able to hold his own. Haven't you realised why he has so many bruises?” 

The lack of an answer seemed to tell his fiancé everything he needed to know and the smugness he radiated was almost tangible. It dripped down his neck when Kakuzu turned to his side and went to sleep, frustration prickling under his skin, hard-on uncared for.

\--

Kakuzu stumbled upon Hidan in the middle of the night, who was leaning against his very expensive bathtub in his very expensive bathroom. A bathtub that was now covered in bloody hand prints – as was most of the bathroom. The scene reminded him of a tacky horror movie.

White lines covered Hidan’s fingers and arms, following the shape of his skeleton, while the white paint on his torso mimicked the white bones of his ribcage running underneath it. His face was covered in blood and the remains of white pigment, some washed away by sweat, some blending with crimson into a pink that complimented his eyes. 

He had his pendant raised to his lips, which moved feverishly against the silver in silent susurration. The whispers of worship stilled when he noticed Kakuzu’s presence. 

“Hey, fancy meeting you here. Watcha doing?” Hidan greeted him, dropping the strange pendant on his bare chest dressed in rubies and pearls.

“Need to piss,” Kakuzu answered reflexively, still too shocked to give the brat the reprimand he deserved.

“Oh yeah. I heard older men have trouble with that ‘cause of their prostates and all,” Hidan stated matter-of-factly. He waved his left hand dismissively – the other was occupied with pressing a blood-soaked cloth to a still oozing head wound. 

For some reason, the usual provocations were not bothering Kakuzu as much as they probably should; sleep had made him languid and Hidan’s sorry state might have had some bearing on his response as well. Instead of scolding him he just sighed – deeply. 

“I’m not that old, Hidan. And you’re bleeding over all over our furniture.” 

Hidan had the nerve to look sheepish. “Sorry, I don’t have a first aid kit at my place.” 

Kakuzu blinked. This was the first time he had heard an apology out of a mouth that usually only spewed profanities. For a moment, he even wondered if he had imagined it in his drowsy state. Maybe Hidan was responding to his shift in attitude. Or, more likely, the blood loss had made him meek. 

“You look like hell.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Hidan responded with a weak smile. “Y’know, while you’re here - care to help me with the cut on my arm? Pretty please? With sugar on top?”

“You’re already using my medical supplies, so why should I help you? You got yourself in this mess, now deal with the consequences.”

“Come on dude, it’s fucking hard to bandage a wound with only one hand!” Hidan protested. 

Kakuzu remained unmoved, but Hidan had one more bolt in his quiver. 

“The sooner you help me, the sooner I stop bleeding all over your expensive furniture.” 

_Checkmate._ With another deep sigh bordering on a groan, Kakuzu moved to sit down on the bathtub and rummaged through the first aid kit to select the supplies he would need. When he rolled up his sleeves to get started, Hidan’s eyes lit up. 

“No way man, a fancy fucker like you got tats?” By the delighted look in his eyes, Kakuzu could tell that this had probably been a mistake. 

“Shut up, Hidan,” he warned, but his words lacked their usual bite.

After carefully removing Hidan’s hand from where it was still pressing the fabric against the cut to stop the bleeding, Kakuzu started to clean the wound with a wet towel. Then he gripped Hidan’s head and pulled it towards him to inspect the wound, silver hair soft beneath his fingers. 

“You should probably get stitches for this one, but I’ll see what I can do.” 

When he started to apply a disinfectant to the head wound, Hidan hissed like a snake that had just been stomped on. 

“Shit, that hurts! How about being a little bit more careful, asshole?!”

“Hidan, I will leave you in a ditch if you don’t shut the hell up,” the older man growled, pressing the band-aid to his scalp with more force than necessary. Then he moved on to disinfect the cut on Hidan’s upper arm. 

This time Hidan bit his lip, but the cotton ball dragging over his skin like a lover’s lips elicited shivers from his exhausted form. He moaned when Kakuzu placed a sterile gauze on top of the wound and started to wrap bandages around ivory. 

“You’re way too whiny for someone who seems to get beaten up on the regular.”

“I only like pain when it’s shared.”

What a weird thing to say. And yet, somehow, understandable. 

Hidan did his best to keep his mouth shut after that and Kakuzu was able to concentrate on the task at hand. 

The skin beneath his hands was spotless, miles and miles of shiny cream without a single scar in sight. And it was as soft as silk, Kakuzu noted, his fingers brushing the soft surface while he bandaged Hidan’s bicep. Much like Sasori’s. 

“I’ve always wondered where you were getting the bruises from,” the banker mumbled absentmindedly. 

Hidan jerked around to look at him. For a moment, he scrutinized Kakuzu, trying to judge the sincerity of his statement.  
Kakuzu did not know whether he found what he was looking for. 

“I’m fighting in these fights-” 

“You don’t say,” Kakuzu interrupted. The other man kicked him, unable to hide the grin spreading across his face. Kakuzu kicked back.

“I fucking love fighting. Always have. You know who you are in a fight. You know what you have to do. It’s a spiritual experience. Just you and your opponent, you have their complete attention and they have yours. You’re bonded. And when you bury your fist in their face, they are hurting just as much as you are. You share their pain. It’s the purest form of human connection.”

Kakuzu’s eyebrows rose. “So you beat up random strangers on the streets? I can’t say that I’m surprised.” 

The other man laughed and rubbed the back of his head. 

“Oh, that. Yeah, I used to do that, but then I found Jashin. He is the god of pain, and I and other Jashinists fight to honour him,” he proclaimed, eyes shining bright with fanatic fever. 

“You’re aware that sounds like a cult, right?”

Hidan shrugged. “Many things sound like cults if you want them to.”

Then he turned back to Kakuzu, magenta eyes resembling the colour of blood. 

“But it’s true that I need it. And you do, too. I see it in your eyes every time you punch me in the face. You used to fight, loved to fight, and now you miss it.”

Taken back by this level of impertinence, Kakuzu’s surprise made it impossible to respond.

Hidan’s eyes roamed his face, searching for an answer. “Why did you decide to stop?”

The older man remained silent for an amount of time that could only be described as uncomfortable.

“I didn’t,” he answered finally, voice empty, and stood up to leave the room without another look back. “I want the bathroom spotless when I wake up tomorrow, so you better start cleaning.” 

Flexing his hand, Kakuzu walked back to his bedroom, skin burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! What were you're favourite things about this chapter? I'm really curious! 
> 
> I made a moodboard for this chapter as well (and, again, spoiler alert, the sixth), which you can find [here](https://kakuzuisabigidiotwholoveshidan.tumblr.com/post/186594237269/the-obligatory-moodboard-for-the-fourth-chapter-of).
> 
> The next chapter will be called "Aporia".


	5. Aporia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The artist must bow to the monster of his own imagination.”

The room was filled with silence and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the first light of dawn crawled through the loft like a screen of fog. As usual, Hidan’s sleeping form was sprawled across their couch, bare upper body dangling precariously close to the ground.

It was only a matter of time before he would hit the floor and startle himself awake.

Various shades of colour bloomed across his pale chest and Kakuzu caught himself staring at a particularly pretty bruise. The purple was so dark it was almost black, matching his dark boxer briefs in the way it contrasted his skin. 

“Why is Hidan sleeping on our couch, dear?”

“Who’s to say,” Sasori answered, not bothering to look up from an article about the latest art installation at a gallery across town. 

“Then, will your little project be finished soon?” Kakuzu probed further.

"I haven’t tried photography yet.”

“Of course you haven’t tried it yet, you don't own a camera.”

“Then buy me one,” Sasori retorted, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kakuzu sighed, long-suffering. Played like a fool.

“So I figured out where his bruises come from,” he noted, leaning back against his chair. A swift change of topic to mask his defeat. ”He participates in these weird street fights. Says it makes him feel alive and that he likes it when he gets to share the pain with his opponents. What kind of psychopath does that?”

Sasori hid his smile behind his mug. Apparently, his fiancé was still too stubborn to realise how similar the two of them were. He had expected nothing less from his significant other.

“He’s lonely. He’s just looking for ways to connect with people.”

“And their wallets. He’s a criminal, Sasori,” Kakuzu insisted, tone urgent.

“As are you.”

A pause.

Then, with crossed arms and lowered brows, the huffed response. “I’m not stupid enough to get caught.”

“It’s a terrible thing, feeling lonely,” Sasori pivoted without missing a beat.

“We’re not a charity,” rumbled Kakuzu from across the table.

“You certainly aren’t.”

Narrowing his eyes, Kakuzu hesitated before his gaze wandered back to their living room, observing the man sleeping on their couch.

“You’re always defending that brat.” Kakuzu began. He took a sip of his coffee, staring at Sasori from across the rim of his cup. “Why do you care so much about him?” 

Sasori frowned, taken aback. “I don’t care about him, I’m inspired by him. There’s a difference.”

“I’ve certainly never seen you behave like this before.”

“Well, I never had a muse before.”

“Then how do you know this is what being inspired by a muse feels like?”

Sasori arched an eyebrow. “What else could it possibly be?”

Scepticism stretched thin across Kakuzu’s face, but he didn’t answer, so the redhead continued.

“I’m a seasoned artist. I’m sure I recognize a muse when I see one.”

“You’ll burn yourself,” Kakuzu cautioned quietly. A warning that was destined for Sasori as much as himself.

To his fiancé’s credit, Sasori had to admit that he might have grown a bit attached. On some days, when Hidan wasn’t around, the light in the living room felt dim and sickly, lacking any and all vitality. It was like eternal twilight had taken up residence in their apartment. Like it was holding its breath, waiting for the boy.

But it was only natural for an artist to be fully devoted to his muse.

After all, Hidan was the divine spark and Sasori was Prometheus, prying it out of the hands of the gods. He had built that spark a shrine, grim veneration staining his skin as he formed mankind from clay in its image.

The first rays of sunlight marched through the apartment. Hidan’s body hit the ground with a soft thud, startling him awake.

Kakuzu immediately raised his newspaper to hide his face. Try as he might, Sasori nevertheless caught a glimpse of the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

\---

The shutter of the Polaroid closed with a quiet click. Sasori moved through the room, sampling different angles, surrounded by disregarded paintings that painted the floor white.

He couldn’t quite believe he had sunken so low as to try photography. Sasori didn’t appreciate the medium. Photographs tended to fate and never quite captured the divinity of the moment as they were supposed to, not like a drawing did. But as his impatience grew, so did his desperation – and desperate times asked for desperate measures. Maybe a device would succeed where human endeavour had failed. 

Maybe these lenses could catch the sunbeams trailing their fingers through white strands of hair better than he did, the way their kisses illuminated alabaster skin. Maybe he could finally possess a picture that would capture his memory of this very moment, that would make him feel the same way as he did now, looking at the metallic necklace resting on Hidan’s chest, gleaming and glistening tantalisingly in the afternoon sun. Maybe.

Meanwhile Hidan laid there like the sun, unaware and unbothered that the universe revolved around him. Unconcerned by his impact. Oblivious to the pain he caused.

The smouldering cinders inside of Sasori’s bones flared bright with anger, warm gold bursting into glaring white, and he paused, finger on the shutter-release, in the attempt to reign it back under control. He had to be careful not to immolate himself - to set himself ablaze. Hidan was his to form, his to forge, his to carve. He pulled the strings. Then why was the boy resisting?

The room hummed with brightness - Sasori felt it vibrating through every layer of tissue inside of him. It used to sing, but now its derisive laughter was ringing in his ears, mocking him.

He leafed through the polaroids he had shot. His gaze lifted from the pictures to the man they were supposed to represent. The ringing in his ears grew louder. The brightness became unbearably shrill, like a needle scratching across exposed bone. Compared to the original, the photographs were dim and underexposed. They looked nothing alike. 

When Sasori looked back down at his hands, the pictures were turning into ash. It took a moment before Sasori realised that he was tearing them apart. All of them, every piece of paper in his reach, every drawing he laid eyes on. He barely had to use any force at all and they crumbled to dust between his fingers.

Hidan was by his side in a flash, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Okay, okay, okay. We’ve been holed up in this place for a fuckton of weeks. Cabin fever is riding your dick right now. Maybe we need some fresh air.”

Sasori didn’t respond. Hidan tried again with a laugh.

“Okay. How about we… uh, get some inspiration someplace else? Like...” His eyes darted around the apartment, before landing on the article Sasori was reading earlier. “...the new thing at that shitty art gallery? That’ll help you for sure.”

Sasori exhaled the smoke from his lungs and took a deep breath of clean air, clearing the fumes from his thoughts. He observed the torn remnants of the photographs and drawings he had destroyed. Maybe Hidan was right.

He gently placed his hands on Hidan’s to remove them from his shoulders, fingers lingering. “I highly doubt that they will let you in without a shirt,” Sasori said. 

Hidan groaned, feigning petulance.

“You know how much I hate those.”

\---

As Sasori was driving them to the gallery, he shot inquisitive glances at the man sitting beside him.

“I have to admit, I hadn’t pegged you as a connoisseur of the arts.”

“You haven’t pegged me at all and, honestly? It’s becoming a problem,” Hidan shot back, throwing Sasori off balance and leaving him fumbling for a response.

He had not been left speechless in years, he noted, eyes set firmly on the road in front of him. The heat spreading across his face better be the warmth of the afternoon sun and not a blush.

Hidan graciously pretermitted his fluster and decided to answer properly, although his grin was audible in his voice.

“It depends, really. A lot is boring as fuck. But some of these motherfuckers actually managed to portray divine suffering, so I like their stuff. Modern art has some good shit, seriously. Not to badmouth Ruben’s ‘Saturn Devouring His Son’ and all, but Goya just got it, you know?” Hidan explained, gesticulating wildly.

Sasori nodded solemnly, processing the information and hiding his surprise. He was unwilling to acknowledge that this was not something he had thought Hidan was capable of.

“Do you have a favourite painter?”

Hidan shrugged. “Hieronymus Bosch hits the spot, I guess. Dali, too. And Bacon. I like it when it hurts to look at a painting. You?”

 _Of course you do_ , Sasori noted with a slight twitch of his lips.

“Every artist who manages to eternalise the human condition has value in my eyes. To create something lasting that can endure the passage of time, something permanent and perpetual - that should be the purpose of all art,” Sasori began to monologue, entirely too focused on the subject at hand rather than the road.

“Its raison d’être is to provide the same reflection for different centuries, to be a constant in the overbearing unpredictability of existence, to allow a glimpse of immortality for creatures defined by their mortality. To introduce a sense of order in the dice game that chance and fate play with our lives.”

He was currently driving in the oncoming lane. A car honked. Sasori swerved back into the correct lane, unperturbed. His passenger didn’t seem to notice his unconventional driving style. 

“Art is the thread that weaves the cloth that grounds our being. It is the twine that links all men. The string that sews the possibilities of the future to the finality of the past.”

Hidan stared at him, mouth hanging open in a way that should be unattractive, but wasn’t. 

“Dude,” he breathed reverently, expression somewhere between dumbfounded and awestruck, and at utter lack for words.  
Sasori felt the heat rise in his cheeks again.

He really had to get out of the sun.

\--

“I can’t believe they let you in wearing that,” Sasori chided, feigning exasperation but unable to hide his amusement.

Hidan tugged at the shirt in question. It read, ‘I eat oil paintings when security guards aren’t looking’. 

You made me wear a shirt, so this is what you get” he grinned and gently bumped his arm against Sasori’s. 

The contact burned a hole through his cardigan and scorched his skin. 

“Sas, there’s a vanitas section! Let’s go _memento_ some _mori_.”

“ _Mori_ is a verb, not a noun,” Sasori corrected, but Hidan did not seem to be interested in a Latin lesson. Sasori couldn’t say he blamed him.

Mori – morior – mors – mortis. Mortality – such an ugly concept. Death and decay, demise and destruction. The dreaded dissolution of existence. Sasori did not see the appeal in reminiscing about these things. But Hidan seemed to enjoy them, so he decided to indulge him for a little while.

He paused before the still life of a table, overflowing with books, quilts and paper, a vase and a violin. His gaze wandered over flowers about to wilt, bubbles about to burst, citrus fruits, cut open, exposed, about to wither. An hourglass with sand about to run out.

Reminders of death, immortalised. Sasori appreciated the irony. His eyes fell on the velvet sachet in muted scarlet, spilling riches, and his thoughts wandered to Kakuzu. Love flowered in his chest, unfolding its silky petals until it stood in full bloom.

With this tenderness still expanding in his chest, Sasori tore his eyes away from the painting to look around the gallery floor, searching for Hidan. His muse stood before a painting of dancing skeletons, watching intently. Sasori stepped beside him, arms only a heartbeat apart.

“What is it with you and skeletons?” he asked, amused.

Hidan shrugged half-heartedly. “I just think they’re neat,” he grinned.

They were walking towards the next painting together when a stranger bumped into Hidan, shoving him against Sasori. 

“Oi, watch where the fuck you’re going, asshole!”

The bulky man stopped and turned around, mood as sour as the lemons on the painting behind him.

“What the hell did you just say?”

Hidan strode up to him. “You heard what I said, fuckface.”

The two were clearly seconds away from starting a brawl in a museum, Hidan already clenching his fist and the man adopting a fighter’s stance.

“Hidan,” Sasori said quietly.

Said man turned to look at him. The tension seeped out of his body and into the ground beneath his feet.

“Oh. Right.” He turned on his heel and joined Sasori, fight forgotten.

They made their way to the section of Greek statues, stepping into a silent congregation held by the dead.

While the living, breathing, bleeding counterpart made of flesh and bone had long sunken into oblivion, their marble shadows stood tall and proud. Once, they had been twins of flesh and stone, leaving Sasori to wonder what seeing one’s likeness reflected in marble might feel like. Now, one had long turned to ashes, while the other transcended time.

Even with their limbs broken off and their heads missing, the statues were still more alive than the humans they depicted. The sculptors had created perfection in art where perfection in life hadn’t been possible. They had perfected life itself.

Hidan fit in seamlessly with the statues surrounding him, alabaster along marble.

Bathed in light, he stepped into the next exhibition room and for a short moment, Sasori was struck with the sudden urge to dip him in gold and display him among the other sculptures, untouched by decay for all of eternity. Marble would not turn to old parchment, firm arches would not deflate to limp sacs. Hidan would not crumble, his beauty immortalised for generations to come, and Sasori could behold his form for the rest of his life.

Then Hidan turned to look at him, motioning for the redhead to join him, and the spell was broken. Sasori shook his head to free himself of the troubling thought.

Yet a quiet voice remained, wondering: If Sasori were to cut him open, would he bleed gold?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the newest addition! As always, please feel free to share your questions or thoughts with me here or on tumblr. I'm looking forward to hearing from you! <3 
> 
> The next chapter is named after the godess of inevitability and compulsion, "Ananke" - we'll have to see whether that is a good sign or not.


	6. Ananke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I shot an arrow into the air, and it stuck.”

The light of the waning moon reflected off the surrounding clouds, illuminating the dark sky.

Kakuzu pushed up his sleeve to consult his watch for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. Still a quarter past two, it informed him flippantly. Clearly annoyed. 

He let it be and went back to staring at the deserted entrance of the police station in front of him. The cold was nipping at his heels like a pack of howling wolves and Kakuzu pulled his coat closer.

When Hidan emerged from the station, the night sky lined his path with silver. Stepping on moonlight, he descended the stairs of the police department, not at all looking like he had just spent several hours in custody. His face darkened when he caught sight of the older man leaning against his Mercedes.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

“My contact informed me that you’ve been taken into custody. Again.”

“You hired someone to dig up shit about me? Heh. Figures.” Hidan sounded almost impressed. “You have a lot of criminal energy, you know that?”

“Says the guy leaving a police station.” Kakuzu’s retort nearly got him a smile. “Did you just leave with Kakashi Hatake?” he probed.  
“Oh, yeah, he bailed me out.” The answer reeked of studied casualness. 

“How the fuck did you get the best lawyer of the city to represent you?”

“None of your business, dickhead,” Hidan grumbled, rubbing the angry red skin on his wrists.

The younger man turned to leave and walked out on the street, looking neither left nor right. He would have stepped right in front of a speeding car flying past them had Kakuzu not pulled him back by the scruff of his neck. Hidan didn’t deign his efforts with as much as a thank you.

The banker decided to continue his interrogation. “Who paid him?”

Sluggishly, Hidan tried to squirm out of Kakuzu’s firm grip. The hand in his neck resisted the lacklustre attempt and he gave up.  
“I don’t wanna do this shit, Kakuzu. I’m tired and cold and really not in the fucking mood.”

With a sigh, Kakuzu opened the trunk of his car, grabbing a jacket and tossing it to the younger man.

He stared at it for one heartbeat, two, three. The silence stretched until it was as thin as sheer. But then Hidan reached for the jacket and when he put it on, the beast in Kakuzu’s chest rolled onto its back and _purred_.

Bewildered, he averted his eyes and leaned against his Mercedes, drinking in the sumptuous black banner above their heads. It took a while before he looked at the other man again.

Standing under the wings of light of a street lamp, Hidan’s silver hair shone white, practically glowing, illuminating the dark night around him. Suddenly, Kakuzu understood his fiancé’s urge to draw him over and over again.

He watched Hidan hunt through his trousers pocket, pull out a paperboard pack, crumpled and torn, and slay a cigarette between his teeth. Fire flickered to life, sheltered from the icy wind by a pale hand, and set the thin tip ablaze.

After a desperate, deep inhale, Hidan tilted his head back and closed his eyes as nicotine flooded his system. His throat moved slightly as he released the smoke into the night, painting the air white.

“Hidan – I really need to know.”

Magenta eyes snapped open, but refused to look at him, gaze forcefully focused on the stars above them. The battle roaring inside of the younger man was mirrored on his face. Whichever side had been fighting for Kakuzu must have won, however, because Hidan decided to answer his question with a roll of his eyes.

“It’s my dick of a dad, okay? He pays for everything.”

Kakuzu raised his eyebrows. “Sasori told me you never met your father.”

Hidan barked out in laughter, sound as sharp as a blade. It spoke of resignation, disappointment, and betrayal, lacking all sense of joy.

Kakuzu knew it all too well.

“I didn’t.” An white exhale of burned air in the dark night. 

“Then why would he pay such exorbitant sums of money for you if he doesn’t even know you?”

Hidan looked up at him, gaze scrutinising.

“For someone so smart you’re really fucking dumb, huh.”

Kakuzu gave him a stern look. With a sigh, Hidan caved.

“My father is Sora Raidon,” he replied, as if that would answer Kakuzu’s question.

And it did.

Sora Raidon was the most influential man in the whole country, maybe even the continent. There was no financial sector he didn’t influence, no politician able to win an election without him, no company indifferent to his decisions. From a throne carved from black marble, he reigned over this realm with regal indifference.

Kakuzu nodded slowly, processing the information. “He is well known for his picture-perfect life and his well-adjusted family. If it turns out that he has an illegitimate child -”

“- shit hits the fan. Ye-p,” Hidan said, popping the p. It was as loud as a gunshot in the quiet night.

“That is quite the bombshell you’re sitting on. I’ve heard nothing but good things about this guy.”

Hidan snorted. “He’s a monster. Knocked up my mum when she was 18. Then that old hag he calls his wife chased her out of the country.”

Tired from hours spent in holding, Hidan leaned against the man beside him. His head came to a rest on a broad shoulder, his eyes falling shut. He ran hot, warming the places their bodies touched, and for a moment, Kakuzu forgot to breathe.

“She was so sad over there,” Hidan recalled, voice soft and full of sorrow. “No family. No friends. Barely knew the language. And all that with a brat that wouldn’t stop getting in trouble.” 

His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. Kakuzu didn’t dare break the silence that was mounting guard over their heads.  
“She came back as soon as she thought it was safe.”

Hidan’s breath hitched and he cleared his throat, blinking furiously.

“At least as long as he has to bail me out of jail, he can’t ignore me. He could send my mother away, but not me. I’ll sit here, like a barbed hook in his flesh, and no matter how much he pulls, I’ll stay.”

The realization hit Kakuzu square in the chest. “You’re just blindly throwing punches. Hoping one will stick,” he muttered, brows knitting together.

Stare fixed into the heart of the night, Hidan didn’t comment on his assessment. After a while, Kakuzu felt the man shrug against him.

“I thought if I could make his life just a little bit more miserable, if I could let him taste just some of his own medicine, I would feel better. Then it all would have been worth it,” Hidan explained. “But no matter how deep the shit gets, he always just sends one of his henchmen that pays the bills, greases some palms and leaves again.”

Kakuzu made a sound of understanding. “That’s how you knew about my business deals.”

A sharp laugh. “Yeah, let’s just say I know way more about rich fucks and their disgusting little circle jerks than I’d like.”

“I stopped participating in those a few years ago,” Kakuzu mused, “it was too hard to get the cum stains out of my dry-clean only suits.”

Hidan whipped his head around to stare at Kakuzu, eyes wide. The hours spent in a cell had ruffled his usually carefully gelled plumage and several loose strands of moonlit hair shone like purest silver around his face. 

“Was that a fucking joke, old man?” the younger man asked incredulously.

“Dry cleaning is too expensive to joke about.”

It took Hidan a good minute to call his bluff, but then he offered a somewhat crinkled cigarette, an honest smile fluttering across his lips. 

Kakuzu’s heart missed a beat. Apparently, his joke had earned him some respect.

He accepted the cigarette.

“You’re full of fucking surprises,” Hidan laughed, shaking his head a little. “Too bad you’re such a filthy nob! I might actually like you if you got your perfect white collar dirty for once.”

Kakuzu took no offense in the remark, chuckling lowly. The way Hidan jerked around to look at him told Kakuzu that the young man had not expected this kind of reaction.

“I know a little something about being betrayed and expelled from your home.” He paused to blow a perfectly circular ring of smoke into the darkness surrounding them, mulling over his answer. A soft nudge from Hidan prompted him to keep talking. Trust merited trust, he decided. 

“You were asking about my tattoos. I used to be a professional boxer.”

A moment of contemplative silence passed before the other man started nodding.

“I can see that,” he said, a small laugh in his voice.

Kakuzu grumbled good-heartedly and began to explain.

“My gym was offered a bribe to fix an important match and they wanted me to take the dive. I refused, told them it dishonoured the sport. So they kicked me out. Saw to it so that nobody else in the business would sponsor me. Ensured that I would never get a foot on the ground again. Pauperised me.”

“What a bunch of cunts,” Hidan muttered.

A shrug. “I learned my lesson. The world runs on money, so you better follow its rules. Play dirty, if you have to. Unlike people, money won’t betray you.”

“And the tats?”

Kakuzu pushed up his sleeve to look at them, a fond look in his eyes.

“They mark the spot where my boxing gloves would have ended if I had continued to wear them. I got them when I put myself through college to get a finance degree. To remind me of my mistakes, of what I lost. Of what my sense of honour has cost me.”

A comfortable silence spread its protective wings around them, shielding them from the biting cold.

“Maybe you’re not like my father, after all,” Hidan concluded, a contemplative look on his face. 

Kakuzu raised his eyebrows. “I’m not that much of an asshole, no.”

A chuckle. “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other, man.”

This elicited a huff from the banker while an amused smile crept onto his lips. “Clearly. I didn’t even know you smoked.”

“Yeah, Sas didn’t like the smell, so I stopped,” Hidan explained, studying the cigarette between his fingers with a thoughtful expression. “Jashin knows I miss them,” he sighed, longing tangible.

Every part of Kakuzu’s being went tense. Fear trickled down his neck, thick and tarry. There they were again, the familiar shards of ice tearing his insides to shreds.

He straightened abruptly, which caused Hidan, who had been leaning against him, to lose his balance. 

“You should really stop coming to our apartment.”

Hidan jerked his head around to stare at him, eyes wide. The sudden change in tone had taken him by surprise and magenta shone crimson in the moonlight.

“You’re giving me whiplash, old man. Where the fuck is that coming from?” he inquired, laughing nervously.

“You’re a threat. You’re violent. You always do some illegal shit. It’s only a matter of time until you’ll get someone hurt.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Sasori wants me there! He needs me, I’m his muse and shit!”

“The thing with muses and artists, you see, is that these kinds of relationships do not tend to stand the test of time. Artists are fickle creatures and quickly tire of their current subject. You’re just his latest little plaything, that’s all.”

Hidan shook his head in disbelief, but Kakuzu could see the doubt grow in his eyes, fuelled by the lies he spewed.

“Cut the crap, ‘kuzu,” he tried to protest, but the crude words were little more than a whimper. Kakuzu talked right over them.

“He’ll find someone new in no time. You’re nothing special and he certainly doesn’t need you. You are nothing but a pretty face to him. So no, nobody wants you there,” Kakuzu continued, but the words felt hollow in his throat.

Each was a little dagger, stabbing his trachea before climbing out of his mouth and tainting his lips with trails of bloody footprints. Suffocating him from the inside. And with the precision of an arrow they found their way straight into Hidan’s heart, who looked at him like he’d been slapped.

No, Hidan would look much happier had he been slapped. Instead he looked unlike anything Kakuzu had seen in the past few weeks. He’d never seen an expression like this on the younger man’s face, Kakuzu came to realise.

They stared at each other, Hidan’s eyes shimmering in the moonlight, and Kakuzu prepared for a tirade of curses slung his way. Or, more likely, a fist. But the man that he had come to associate with fighting more than anything else in his life, with bared teeth, feral rage and endless provocation, did nothing of the sort.

Kakuzu had wanted nothing more than for this brat to stop talking for once, but now that he had, the silence crawled under his skin like vermin. Hidan was eerily calm and unnaturally quiet. The frigid stiffness of his posture made the beast inside him claw at his ribs, whimpering.

And then, the boy who always picked more battles than was healthy, sane, or appropriate, turned his back on the one fight staring into his face - and left.

Half of Kakuzu’s heart was hoping that Hidan would flip him the bird again, like on that night nearly a month ago, a gesture that angered him then and would make him smile now – but instead Hidan carried that strange rigidness in his shoulders with him into night.

He didn’t come home that day. Or the next one. Or the day after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaah I'm so excited about this chapter! All the foreshadowing finally payed off. I hope you liked it, too! <3
> 
> And yes, Hidan's backstory is ripped right out of Greek mythology, I am NOT a creative person I'm afraid. 
> 
> The next chapter is "Eris", the godess of discord and strife, so if you thought you had the worst behind you, you are severly mistaken. >:)
> 
> Edit: "Chapters: 6/9" ... nice


	7. Eris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”

Another night that Hidan had spent elsewhere, Sasori noted as he stared at the blank space on their couch. 

That was highly unusual. Hidan had started to spend most of his days and nights at their apartment since he had given him a key, much to Kakuzu’s chagrin and Sasori’s delight. Constant access to his object of inspiration had been a source of artistic bliss. 

A ghostly tremor possessed his right hand, the urge to create overwhelming. The fact that he was ready to work and Hidan was missing was agonising, every second missed seemed like a whole universe lost. 

Yes, it was most definitely impatience and not worry that made him unable to sit still, pacing through the flat like a trapped animal, wondering what happened to his muse. After a while, the horror scenario Hidan conjured during their first lunch together, draining all his blood and turning him into a puppet to keep him forever, seemed quite enticing. That way Sasori would always have him by his side when he needed him. 

When Hidan’s key finally turned in the lock, the redhead was beyond disgruntled. He quickly pushed the relief rising in his chest aside to make room for his anger. There was no poison deadlier to the artistic constitution than being forced to wait, and after all their weeks spent together, Hidan should have known better. 

But the moment Sasori laid eyes on his muse, it was an entirely different emotion that sucked the air out of his lungs, and he gasped. The sight felt like a punch in the gut. 

Hidan looked – awful. 

Beaten to pulp and exhausted, with a torn lip, a cut on the bridge of his nose and dark circles under his eyes that were indistinguishable from the black eye on the left side of his face. The laceration on his forehead definitely required stitching. All the wounds were at least a day old, maybe more, and cleaned up sloppily. Sasori did not dare to look at Hidan’s right eye, which was swollen shut. 

He was a sliced canvas, a shattered sculpture, a shredded symphony. Suddenly, the drawings surrounding him where not mirrors anymore, but stark reminders of what once was and what still should be. 

Eternal beauty – destroyed. 

The damage afflicted to Hidan buried the shaft of a knife deep inside Sasori’s stomach. It looked incredibly painful, far worse than any bruise blooming on his chest ever did. It looked dangerous. Deadly. Beaten to death deadly. 

Staring the younger man in the face, Sasori could easily imagine his corpse, white hair reddened, smooth skin swollen. It was a stark reminder that as much as Hidan resembled a statue carved from marble, he was, in fact, human, so very human. So very mortal.

The blade inside him twisted and he winced. 

It hurt to look at Hidan, and Sasori despised being in pain - so he drained the ache from his heart and filled it with ire. After all, it was much easier to focus on the desecration of beauty than the defacement of – of what? 

Only one thing was certain: This would not have happened had Sasori dipped him in gold. 

Now, his muse was ruined. And broken things weren’t art. 

“What did you do to your face? I barely recognise you!”

“Come on, Sas, it’s no big deal,” Hidan retorted, grinning sheepishly. 

An unholy rage ignited the cinders smouldering in his bones at Hidan’s negligence of his own well-being. Fire flooded his blood and he could feel its heat burning the hair from his skin, searing the clothes off his body. When he began to speak his words fell like acid rain. 

“No big deal? Look at yourself, you’re completely deformed! How dare you treat yourself like this? So carelessly, so recklessly, so thoughtlessly. You have value, yet you feel the need to transform your beautiful face into bloody pulp! I thought you were taking care during fights not to end up like this. You promised! How am I supposed to draw you if your face resembles a raw steak? I can’t believe you’d do this to me.”

His words etched their way through skin like vinegar through marble. 

Given the state of his face, Hidan’s expression was hard to read. “I just had to – feel something, you know? Blow off some steam.” 

Sasori shot him a look that was pure poison, a look that ran cold through veins and made it impossible to breath as if it stopped oxygen from reaching the heart. 

“Then you use that skateboard of yours. Or come talk to me. No need to nearly kill yourself for some pressure relief.” His own words echoed inside his head, emphasised by Hidan’s desecrated face. 

He averted his gaze. 

“I can’t even look at you. And at what you’ve done to yourself,” he said, turning away. 

“I’ll be back looking like normal in no time!” Hidan tried to defend himself and grabbed Sasori by the arm in the attempt to make him look at him. “We can just do some other shit in the meantime, it’ll be fun!”

Sasori jerked his arm out of Hidan’s hand, the touch unbearably hot on his searing skin. 

“My art is my utmost priority, Hidan, you of all people should know that,” Sasori scolded. “I can’t turn you into art with your face beaten up, so what am I supposed to do with you? You’re of no use to me looking like that.” 

Hopefully his stern words would keep Hidan from endangering himself to this extent again. Sasori had been well aware of Hidan’s little hobby but had firmly believed that he was aware of his limits. Now evidence to the contrary stared him in the face. 

“It will only take a few days to heal!” Hidan pleaded. 

But Sasori remained as unwavering as the rock chaining Prometheus to his eternal damnation. “I despise waiting. I have waited for days for you to finally show your demolished face again and now I’m supposed to wait even longer? That won’t do.” 

Trust broke like honeycomb. Drops of gold oozing from their shelter, bursting as they hit the ground, all while Hidan stood in the middle of the room, forlorn, eyes desperate. His hands empty, gripping air. 

Kakuzu emerged from his study, walking towards them, but his movements halted for the briefest of moments when he laid eyes on Hidan. His eyes roamed over the eye that was swollen shut, the cut on his lip and the laceration on his temple. An emotion closely resembling remorse flit over his face, but Sasori knew his husband too well to assume he was feeling guilty – he never did, no matter how serious the crime. It was one of his best qualities. 

“Seems like someone’s done quite the number on you. I would have barely recognised you,” the banker stated and reached for Hidan’s chin to further inspect the damage.

Kakuzu’s head whipped to the side, eyes wide. Hair flying from the force of Hidan’s fist meeting his jaw. 

Sunlight shattered. Hidan was covered in broken shards of light when he threw himself at Kakuzu and pulled him to the floor. 

Instead of engaging, however, Kakuzu pinned him to the ground and immobilised him with his weight. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the man beneath him. 

“Look, Hidan, I’m so-“

The younger man brought his head up, too fast for Kakuzu to move, and slammed it against the one hovering above him with a crack. Sasori could see the last scraps of his fiancé’s self-control flutter to the ground like the shreds of a tattered veil. 

He stepped aside as they began to rip each other apart like rabid dogs. 

Sasori observed the carnage unfolding before him with raised eyebrows. This didn’t feel right. Usually, their fighting consisted of teases and taunts, slings of endless provocations, riling each other up for what felt like an eternity. He assumed the cathartic explosion of built-up energy was all the sweeter for it. 

But this seemed much less like unloading with a blow and more like charging a battery that was already filled to the brim. It was only a matter of time before it would overheat and catch fire. 

Even stranger than the troubling lack of repartees and the acute twist in their established dynamic was the strange anomaly of the two men actually fighting in front of him. While Sasori knew that they tended to add injury to insult, not insult to injury, he had never actually seen them fight. 

For some reason, probably to save face or to protect Sasori’s maidenly virtue, they always abruptly broke apart as soon as they noticed him entering the room. To no avail, of course. Sasori would be affronted by their pathetic attempts of keeping their scuffles a secret if he didn’t find it so endearing. 

As if their heavy breathing, bloodied lips, and tented pants did not make it glaringly obvious what they were doing. 

His hand twitched at the thought of using this unique opportunity to draw sketches of the fight. If he couldn’t make use of Hidan’s face today, maybe a study of dynamic poses would suffice? 

But the two men were interlocked like ill-fitting cogs in a machine, wedged together, neither moving forward nor backward. Stuck. 

The combined weight of their deadlocked bodies slammed against a cabinet caused the lamp placed on top of it to topple. It tilted, swayed, and fell as Sasori watched on. 

The light hit the ground and burst into a million pieces, the filament burning in a flash as the bulb shattered and fragments of glass flew across the room. He shielded his eyes as not to get blinded.

Splinters of the sun covered the floor, shiny and sharp, hungering to cut flesh. Sasori had never known that daylight could be so violent.

Neither Hidan nor Kakuzu had noticed, or simply didn’t care, and rolled right into the field of treacherously glinting diamonds. A large piece of broken glass cut Kakuzu’s forehead open and blood caressed his face with all the gentleness of a lover’s touch. 

“Stop!” Sasori screamed. He never screamed. It was a principle of his. 

The two men stopped dead in their tracks, Hidan with his fist still raised, poised to attack. 

“You’re bleeding, dear.”

Both of them were, their blood mingling on the thorns of broken glass, but the cut on Kakuzu’s forehead was bleeding profusely, painting his face red. Sasori had to stop it before the sea of blood would swallow him whole.

Only then did his fiancé seem to notice his wound even though his hair was already slick with blood. His fingers grazed his head and when they returned bloodied, he loosened his grip on Hidan and rose to his feet. 

“It’s nothing, darling. It’s just a head wound and those-“

“- bleed a lot even if they are not serious, I know. Still,” Sasori insisted, guiding his fiancé to a chair. 

Gently but firmly, he pushed Kakuzu down to sit so that he could reach the gushing wound on his forehead. A towel was pressed against the cut stopped the bleeding. Sasori critically examined the trail of blood running down Kakuzu’s neck and into his collar, dying the white of his dress shirt a deep crimson. 

“That shirt is probably ruined.”

Kakuzu shrugged. “I have more.” 

A fond smile began to tug at the corners of Sasori’s mouth as we wet a clean kitchen towel and slowly, carefully, cleaned the blood off Kakuzu’s face and neck. Sticky strands of brown hair, now auburn, got in his way and he tied them up to a bun with practised movements to get better access to Kakuzu's skin. 

Hidan watched them with his hands by his sides, balled into fists. Breathing particles. He stood so eerily still that he could have just as easily been a statue, brought to life for a little while before being turned back into alabaster and ivory, cold and hard and alone.

“This has been a mistake,” Hidan murmured under this breath, but Sasori paid him little mind since his beloved was bleeding beneath his hands.  
The white towel was pink when Sasori was finished and his lips tightened with worry at the amount of blood lost. Hesitant, he cupped Kakuzu’s face and stroked a loving thumb across his cheek. 

“I’ll have to disinfect the cut.” 

Kakuzu attempted to stand up from the chair Sasori had placed him on but was adamantly held in place by his shoulders. 

“You stay put! I’ll get it.” 

Kakuzu chuckled quietly. “It’s just a small cut, Sasori. I’m not going to faint. You don’t have to pamper me.” 

But Sasori begged to differ and returned with the first aid kit. As he applied the disinfectant to the cut, Kakuzu drew in air and Sasori winced sympathetically, suffering from the sharp sting of the spray just as much has his fiancé. 

“This might need stitches.”

“Oh no, a scar on my immaculate body. How will I survive,” Kakuzu answered, a reassuring smile on his lips. 

Sasori let out a soft laugh and shook his head at his husband, love smoothing the jagged splinter of worry his eyes. 

“And I love each and every one of them.”

He pressed a tender kiss to his lover’s lips, taking advantage of having them within easy reach for once. Kakuzu kissed back and slung an arm around his waist, pulling him close. Carefully, Sasori leaned his forehead against the uninjured part of Kakuzu’s head, exhaling a deep breath of relief. 

When he tore his gaze from the beautiful emerald eyes of his fiancé, he noticed that Hidan had begun to gather up his various belongings scattered across the apartment.

“Hidan, what are you-“

“Well, this was fun, you guys, but I’m leaving now. Sas, sorry that we never managed to catch your moment of eternal beauty. Kakuzu, sorry that I didn’t punch you harder. Anyway, have a nice wedding.” 

With a quiet click, Hidan set his key to the apartment down on their dresser, and with a loud bang, he slammed the door shut behind him. Deafening silence seized the room as their realities broke into pieces of tainted sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm looking forward to hearing from you, so please don't be afraid to scream at me in the comments! 
> 
> Eris is the godess of discord, so my brain constantly went: "Discooooord, I'm howling at the moon." In fact, I'm listening to the song right now.
> 
> Edit: I completely forgot to tell you the title of the next chapter! It's Oizys, the goddess of misery, grief, and depression soooo. Our boys are not done suffering yet I'm afraid.


End file.
